Finding Memories
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara leaves with Grissom's understanding, to find her mother, to find some memories. Mostly fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Another little story of fluff (mostly)--we are not into angst right now! Enjoy!_

**Finding Memories, Chapter 1:**

Weeks had passed and Gil Grissom watched as Sara struggled. She was the one who changed to another shift stating she needed more sunlight in her life; the cast came off her arm; she saw a counselor several times; she said she would marry him, and she still struggled. He watched as her smiles grew less frequent. Her sleep was restless and bothered with dreams.

She walked their dog one afternoon, gone so long that he went to find her. She was sitting on a bench, the dog at her feet. When he touched her hand, she looked at him with those dark eyes and quietly said "I love you, Gil—I don't say that enough."

At home she had slowly undressed him, made love to him, and, when she thought he was asleep, she cried. He could no longer pretend that everything was fine. When confronted, she made excuses—new shift, new people, work, adjusting took time.

Even after reading her letter twice, he retraced his steps believing he would find her. When he did not, he got in his vehicle and drove home, a hundred questions whirling in his brain. He pressed the first number on his cell phone and listened to it ring. "Pick up, honey, pick up," he whispered, but all he got was her voice saying to leave a message. He called twice before leaving a message.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as late night tourists and taxi drivers tried to find addresses in the dark. He swore as two cars bumped and drivers jumped out. He flipped on lights, made a u-turn, and circled several blocks to another street. He kept lights flashing as he broke speed limits and took a few turns against traffic lights.

"Please be home" he pleaded. He knew she had not bounced back, he knew she was not sleeping; he knew the shift changed had affected her. He knew things troubled her. He knew she never let go. He knew—a dozen things he should have done.

Her car was there.

"Sara—Sara" he called her name realizing his voice was too harsh, too angry, which he wasn't, only worried. The dog did not greet him, usually a good sign. Hank watched and waited for Sara as a loyal companion. Wherever she was, the dog would be.

He called her name again before he heard the shower, saw a suitcase open on the bed, and found Hank standing sentinel at the bathroom door. Pushing the door open, steam escaped clouding his vision, and for a few seconds, he thought the room was empty until he saw the figure slumped on the floor of the shower.

His first thought was there was only water going down the drain, instantly knowing she would not, could not, do what was his first thought. He turned the water off and reached for a robe at the same time. Kneeling, he wrapped the robe around her and lifted her up. Her body shook as he brought her to her feet. She was almost dead weight but he managed to get her to the bed, toweled her dry, and pulled covers over her. All the while, she cried silent tears. Several times she said his name, choking and sobbing before returning to silence.

He tried to talk, saying her name a dozen times, asking what happened, had he done something. He got no answers, just the silent tears. He pulled her to him wrapping arms around her saying "Talk to me. Let me help. Whatever is wrong, let me help."

Her body trembled as she choked out his name. He kept her against his chest running hands along her back, placing light kisses in her hair.

Minutes stretched into an hour before he realized she no longer cried continuously, but made soft sounds of agitated dreams. She frowned and mumbled a word as he laid her head on the pillow. He kept his hands on her as he covered her up. Hank had quietly stretched out beside her, lifting his questioning eyes when Grissom moved.

His phone blinked with waiting messages, the first from Catherine, another from Brass, Ecklie, Catherine again. He called Catherine.

"What's going on?" she asked.

It took a minute for him to speak. "Catherine, take care of things. I—I need some time."

"Sara?"

"Yeah. She—I need to be with her."

"Gil, what's wrong? We know she left. Ronnie found her vest."

"I don't know. I'll get back to you. Just take care of things."

"You know you can call me—any of us." She waited for him to say something. When he did not, she continued. "Tell her we love her. Tell her you love her." Her voice was a whisper.

"Okay, thanks."


	2. Chapter 2

**Finding Memories: Chapter 2**

He dialed Brass who immediately answered without acknowledging Grissom, saying "What have you done?"

Grissom was prepared for this question. Over the years, Brass had been the one person to question anything said or done to Sara. Just a few days ago, Brass had asked about Sara saying he was worried about her. Brass worried about everyone. He asked Brass to take care of things; they needed time off. Ecklie could wait. Brass and Catherine would take care of things even if they had to lie.

He returned to the bed and dosed with his book across his chest. He woke quickly when Sara moaned, or whimpered, sounding like a lost kitten. In her sleep, her hand had folded into a fist covering her mouth. His hand covered hers and for a brief minute her face relaxed, calmness came in the way her body curled next to his.

Grissom's waking thoughts had not ceased since reading her letter, going back to her words, each sentence, trying to decipher her meaning. She stirred again but did not wake.

For a long time, Grissom had tried to bring Sara's secrets into the open. Only a few times had she ventured into her past; a father who died long ago, a faceless name, and a mother who lived but vanished from her daughter's life. He had gradually realized that part of Sara's life was lost, circumstances or memory had obliterated a portion of her past. Those were her ghosts.

Sara had come to live with him after a long, twisting path of on-again, off-again romance between the two. She had seldom wavered; he had been much slower to grasp the meaning of their relationship. In the process they had learned much about each other. They had formed a language of their own and built a city of thoughts and expressions, of perceptions and feelings without the need for many words. There were main avenues of like thoughts with many small meandering streets branching in different directions that brought surprises to each. In the quietness of their lives, they learned much about communicating within a private globe of love. Words came later.

One afternoon, a rare day when both were off work, before everyone knew they were a couple, they were outside, reading when he began a conversation about differences, about nature and destiny and dogma and fate. He had freely pointed out their differences in thoughts and actions.

She interrupted him, "But we are together."

"We are together," he said. "but we are not the same. We are sun and moon; we are each other's opposite and complement. We have recognized each other." When she said nothing, he continued, "You have a kind, soul oriented nature. You have the ability to feel as you live—as mother's do. People like me—who must have reason and order and science, we do not live as you do. You look and find the joy and sorrow of life. I would live in a desert, and have for years, without your passion. For me, the sun shines; for you, it is sun, moon, and stars. I see people while you see good and bad in men, women, boys and girls. You see events, circumstances, and consequences."

Sara had listened to his words, surprised as he listed their differences when her one goal for so many years had been to be like him. At some of his words, she flinched but he had not noticed. When he looked at her, he realized his words had an unintentional meaning and asked her what was wrong. She had shaken her head, saying nothing was wrong, yet she felt as if she were drowning in a deep pool. His words had touched her secret—one he knew and had casually brought into the open. But a drowning victim can not talk.

Grissom knew Sara had forgotten her past, by willful desire or by accidental circumstance. He had once told her that the mind has its filters. He knew her past haunted her dreams as well as her work. Some recent occurrence, more likely several events, had opened these filters; memories were returning to disturb her, causing pain, finding no way toward reason. She had reached her limit.

Sleep had taken him a second time when he felt movement and opened his eyes to find two warm brown ones looking at him with such extreme sadness that he knew sleep had not helped her.

"I love you," he said. His hands moved to caress her face, carefully tracing her eyebrows, her nose, her lips, her chin with fingertips memorizing with his touch in that part of his brain that held sacred memories. He knew she had to leave. She had written the word 'ghosts' in her letter. He knew she needed to find her memories.

Her eyes closed. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Sara, remember when I had to leave? Some time the hardest part is leaving, but I knew I had to leave—to put things in perspective." He sighed and pulled her close. "Leaving you that day was the hardest thing I've ever done. I knew we would be okay but I had to leave you behind.

"In truth, I was not leaving you, Sara. You were waiting for me." Her hands were on his face and he smiled. He said, "I understand, honey. I'll be here when you return."

Her lips touched his jaw below his ear. "I don't know where to go; I know I have to leave."

He rolled to face her. The robe had fallen away and he felt heat from her body against his. He crooked an arm around her head and played his free hand along her shoulder. "Sara, when was the last time you talked with your mother?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Finding Memories: Chapter 3**

She was quiet for several minutes before saying, "You know we don't talk. Christmas, I think."

"Why don't we go see her?"

Her eyes flew to his. "No."

"Honey, some times our worse fears are in our minds. You've had nightmares for years—we've talked about this—empty rooms, lost, abandoned."

She tried to pull away but he held her. "I will not let you go, Sara. I am not your father. You are not your mother."

Tears formed in her eyes. "I'm so scared, Gil."

"Why?"

She shook her head as tears fell.

"Don't cry, don't cry. You are so strong, Sara. Much stronger than you realize." He kissed her gently, bringing his face to hers. She responded with soft, open kisses against his skin until her face nestled against his neck. His hand kept her there as he smelled her hair.

Slowly, her kisses moved from his neck to his lips, lingering to play and tease. Her hands found buttons and belt as he found those secret, sensitive areas known only to lovers. In slow, patient play, she gave herself to him, setting fire to his blood, and stilling the flames until he lay with eyes closed. Neither said a word as his hands continued to caress her.

He bent over her face as gentle light peaked around blinds in the dark room. The sun was rising over the distant edge of the desert and he watched as light crossed her face, brightened her cheeks, and reflected in her eyes. Softly, with surprised eyes, he said, "How beautiful you are!"

She gave him a timid, unsure smile. He sat up and gently pulled her up, dropping the covers from her shoulders until dawn had covered her in a soft new light. He followed delicate shadows with eyes and lips, looking and kissing. Her eyes watched with serious, solemn expression as though she was seeing her own beauty for the first time.

His fingertips touched her chin, her shoulder, and traced each breast. As the light moved across the room, the two lovers returned to bed entangled in arms and legs, finally falling into sound, restful asleep.

Exhausted, Grissom slept. When he woke, Sara was gone, the bed cool to touch. He stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen.

"Sara," he called her name, hearing no answer. Neither she nor Hank was in the house. He found a scribbled note, 'walking Hank.'

He reached for the waffle maker and stirred up batter, warmed syrup, and cut up fruit. He filled the dog bowl thinking things were better today if Sara was walking Hank. By the time the first waffle finished, he heard a voice at the door and Hank ran into the kitchen. Sara followed, coming in as he plated the waffle and held it out. As he looked at her, he knew she had made a decision.

"Tell me."

"How do you always know?" She asked as she touched his hand.

"You make it easy."

Sara took the plate as he fixed a second one and joined her.

"I'm going to San Francisco. I'm going to find my mother—no, I'm going to visit her. I've known where she is for years, I just don't visit." They ate in silence until both plates were empty.

"When will you leave?"

"Tonight. I—I got a cheap ticket—if you would drop me at the airport on your way in."

He nodded. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"I do."

His hand covered hers. "I'll miss you. If you need anything, call. Please."

Their heads came together and he kissed her.

"You do understand? I need to go. Out in the desert that night, I felt that my mother had come to take me home. I know it was a dream, an illusion, I know it. But she spoke to me. I heard her call my name. I was so afraid. I thought if I answered, I would be dead. And I wasn't ready to die."

His arm was around her as her head rested on his shoulder.

She continued in a quiet voice. "All my life, as far back as I can remember, I've been ashamed of my mother. She would never come to school. There were always bruises or marks, a black eye, a broken arm. Then after my father died—killed—I certainly wanted no one to know her. When I graduated from high school, she was there. Standing in the back watching. I never acknowledged her." She swiped a hand over her eyes. "After college and I returned to San Francisco, we would meet a few times a year, little more than two strangers sitting at a table. I gave her a check one time—I knew she needed money—but she tore it up. After that, I was so angry, why would she not take my help? At that age, it's easy to move on, be independent, work, find other things to do." She sighed. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For your patience, for everything. For listening, for—for saying we should visit my mother. I need to do this."

"Sara, you know, whatever you need, I'm here. I'll wait. But let me take care of you. Do what you need to do, but I can't live without you."

"Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Here's a long one--Happy 4th!_

**Finding Memories Chapter 4**:

The rest of the day, they spent together. He watched as she moved around their house, touching things, pulling a book from a shelf, and replacing it, packing a small suitcase. She took his shirt and folded it with her things. She sat with Hank, brushing his coat, and giving him extra treats. She pulled a photograph from her journal and put it on the refrigerator; the two of them in San Francisco. She was smiling at the camera; he wasn't. When he saw it, he told her all about that afternoon in minute detail, surprising her with his memories of that day.

Late in the afternoon, he took her to bed, where she promised to return, to call him every day. He promised to take care of Hank, pay bills, wait for her to call. He gave her two weeks, then he would come to her if she was not ready to return. She said she could not go back to work; she had seen enough of crime, murder, the dark side of humanity. She needed sun and time.

Grissom walked her to the departing gate—an official badge and knowing half of the security team opened doors when nothing else did. He stood watching as she was the last to board; she called him from her seat saying she was fine. He knew heart break when he watched her plane leave Las Vegas; he knew how she must have felt standing in the locker room when he left in a cab. He had no concept of how she must have felt until now.

Sara watched as pin dots of light became streets and buildings and tarmac. A taxi dropped her at a tourist hotel, non-descript, easy to find, basic room that fit her needs. She did not think she would sleep, but a shower, a phone call to Grissom, hearing his soft worried voice reassuring her, put her to sleep in the small rented room.

In Las Vegas, Grissom worked. He rebuffed efforts to talk, saying only that Sara was visiting her mother. He got concerned and anxious looks from those who knew her best. Ecklie signed leave papers. Not because Grissom threatened to quit, but by suggesting Sara's absence related to job stress. He worked and waited for Sara to call.

The thin drapes did not block the sun and the patterns of light played across the wall and along the bed as Sara woke in an unfamiliar room to strange street sounds. She was wrapped head to toe in her own sheet. Too many years finding too many stains caused her to pack her own regardless of the name of the hotel on the sign out front.

She stumbled around, managed to make coffee, and washed her face before punching the number one on her phone. Grissom answered so quickly that she knew he was at work.

"Still at work?"

"Yeah."

"Go home, you need rest."

"How can I rest without you?" His voice was worried but not stressed.

Sara made a quiet laugh. "You can rest without me, probably better."

He also laughed quietly at her joke. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Really, I am. How was work?"

He told her about Hodges' board game. She laughed when he described the playing pieces and Hodges' name for each. He would not tell her what Hodges said about her leaving—it was too near the truth that he had failed to see until she walked out.

He asked, "Do you have a strategy?"

Sara hesitated, knowing she had yet to develop a definite plan. At least she was in the right place.

"Take the day to walk around. It's been a long time since you were there. You don't have to do anything fast."

She agreed. Maybe a day as a tourist would help to calm her nerve as well as give her courage. She could also investigate her mother's neighborhood. She knew the address had not changed in more than a decade.

Grissom was talking again. "She's your mother, not an ogre. And she may want to see you as much as you want to talk to her." She knew he was giving her encouragement. "Call me any time. Promise?"

She promised. She tried to talk him into going home. Hank needed him, she said. He laughed. "Hank is with the sitter so he's happy." He did not add how lonesome home would be without her.

She dressed to walk, ate the free breakfast at the hotel, found a map, and headed out to revive what she remembered. She had chosen the hotel from an address that put her on a bus line, a few blocks from the cable cars, a few blocks from major tourist destinations, and another few blocks from the address of her mother. She walked up the street, realizing how she had missed the smells of San Francisco. Her nose was filled with fragrances of flowers from balconies and hidden patios. The air was moist and cool, unlike the hot, arid environment in Vegas with its artificially planted flowers and trees. She laughed at her own thoughts as she saw a huge bougainvillea hanging in solid color over a fence. Never happen in Las Vegas unless it was carefully tended and in a pot, she thought.

By lunchtime, she was standing at the top of Telegraph Hill with the Bay Bridge on her right and turning to her left she could see the Golden Gate Bridge. Why had she stayed away so long, she asked herself. Of course, the answer was in one person's name. She wished he were here now.

Sara walked down along a brick staircase feeling as if she were in the country instead of a city with ferns, ivy, and vines as thick as her arm growing in a wild, unkempt city-jungle. She located more steps where flowers grew in a natural environment and a few cats crossed her path, but no tourists. A small park square with old people sitting on wooden benches opened as she rounded a corner. She found food and a bench for lunch and afterwards turned her back on the bay and walked in the direction of the address in her pocket. She would see what she found; she did not have to stop.

The area was one that progress had by-passed or ignored, a neighborhood placed between the addresses of the very wealthy and a nighttime neon lighted arcade of the rude, boisterous crowd of all night parties. In the afternoon, both areas were quiet. The street she sought was one of store front family owned businesses that had managed to stay in business because of the surrounding neighborhoods; they offered fast service from groceries and drugs to dry cleaning and copies. The address Sara found was for laundry and dry cleaning.

She slowly walked by the small place, no more than fifteen feet wide. Passing the store, she looked up to see the second level with a balcony overhanging the sidewalk. Three chairs and flowers filled the small area. An alley led to another door at the rear.

Sara sucked in air several times, walked to the front door and pushed it open. A bell chimed above the door. From somewhere in the back, a small Asian woman appeared, smiling. She was not who Sara was expecting.

"Hi, I'm looking—looking for Laura Sidle." She managed to get the words out thinking this was probably a mistake; her mother was probably not at this address. How long could one work at a dry cleaner and laundry, she thought.

The woman smiled again and lowered her head slightly in greeting. "Laura, next door." She indicated a curtain covered door that separated the business from the next room. The woman's accent indicated she had learned English as an adult. "In there."

Sara pulled the curtain open and entered a sewing room. The work of machines hummed as three women worked on a variety of fabrics—drapes, a dress, and something dark. She realized she was standing in the doorway and no one had looked up from their work. Behind her, the first woman slipped a hand to a switch and flipped it twice causing lights to flicker. Instantly, all three women looked up and the room became quiet.

She had found her mother. One of the women, tall and slim with dark hair, stood, dropping her scissors as she did so causing the other women to look at her first. Then their eyes turned to Sara. Laura Sidle placed her hand over her mouth as she came to her daughter. Sara noticed the threads of silver in the dark hair of her mother and for the first time realized she saw herself in the face that approached her.

"Hello, Mom."


	5. Chapter 5

**Finding Memories: Chapter 5**

Her mother touched her arm. "Sara." She smiled, not the same smile as her daughter's but one that was tentative, hesitant, and timid. Neither seemed to know what to do or say for a full minute as the other women looked at them.

Sara's mother recovered first. Turning to her co-workers she introduced her daughter. "This is Sara." The two women at the sewing machines were up, smiling and talking at once.

The woman standing at the doorway shook Sara's hand. "I knew who she was. I just knew this was Sara." Her accented words came fast as she made her claim of recognition. "She looks just like you!"

The others were talking at once ignoring the uncomfortable silence between mother and daughter.

"You never told us she was coming." "She's so pretty, Laura!" "Look at how much you look like each other." "How long will you be here?" In the tangle of words, Sara heard these and another dozen questions. The questions kept coming with no answers from either woman.

After five minutes of this, Sara reached to hug her mother in an uneasy embrace. Her mother returned the motion and with that action, the others stopped talking and smiled, looking pleased with whatever they were witnessing between mother and daughter.

Laura Sidle introduced each of the three women as Pam, Maria, and Ann. Pam disappeared into the other room as the others continued to ask questions, laugh and talk as Sara and her mother stood in their center. A few minutes passed before Pam reappeared saying "Tea."

The women moved into the front area where a small table in a corner was set up with tea and a plate of simple cookies. Pam moved a chair from the sewing room so all five had a place at the table. The simple act of sharing food and making tea melted some of the awkwardness as Sara settled between her mother and Pam. Her mother had said few words yet kept placing a hand on Sara.

There was nothing fancy about this tea time; mismatched cups, paper napkins and cookies from a package, but in this familiar ritual, the women passed items and referred to each other as long-time friends. Sara learned that Pam was Ann's daughter; Ann owned the business as had her husband before he died. Laura lived upstairs, sharing living arrangements with these two. Maria was the newest of the group; she had been there for nine years and had a home, husband, and children in the direction of a waved hand.

Sara asked questions about the business and the work in the sewing room and got answers and explanations from all four. Dry cleaning was dropped-off, picked up and actually done off-site. "Environment," Pam told her as an explanation. They did alterations, sewed custom drapes, and performed anything else that could be done with a sewing machine or needle and thread. Certain holidays kept them busy with costumes and evening wear and other times, as today, they worked as much or as little as they desired.

In the middle of explaining their work, one would ask Sara a question: "Is Las Vegas like we see on television?" She said "no, much hotter and drier." They laughed as she tried to describe the heat. "How long will you visit?" She answered with "a few days." Gradually, and with an age acquired ease, the women slipped back to work in the next room, leaving Sara and her mother alone.

Their conversation dwindled to questions asked and answers given in one or two words, both struggled make conversation. The front door opened as two men arrived to pick up items and Sara waited while her mother retrieved shirts from somewhere in the back. When they left, she asked her mother to dinner including the others in her invitation. Sara waved at the other women as she left. Outside, she noticed the storefront window had three evening dresses displayed with a sign for alterations, tailoring, and custom made work. It seemed to be enough to keep four women busy.

Walking a block, she found a quiet place to make a phone call. Grissom answered on the third ring asking how she was doing. She told him about her mother, the other women, and their dinner plans. He kept saying "that's good." She blinked back tears trying to keep her voice as normal as possible.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

It took several minutes for her to say anything. "They were so nice to me, Gil. My mother and I had almost nothing to say, but the other women—I guess they talked for us."

"Sara, you have not seen each other in years. Give it time. This is progress."

She asked about work, was he sleeping, was Hank okay. She walked back to her hotel feeling better about being in San Francisco, feeling better about meeting her mother, and missing the man left in Las Vegas.

The dinner was a success as any meal with strangers can be. Sharing food brought a closeness that made conversation easier and food was a neutral subject, bringing up remembered stories of other places and shared food. Afterwards, they walked back to the shared living rooms above the business.


	6. Chapter 6

**Finding Memories: Chapter 6**

Sara was invited in. Up stairs and into a living area furnished simply with the furnishings of blended lives. Furniture was functional—a sofa, several chairs, a dining table. There was none of the decorations found in modern houses and Sara was almost overwhelmed at the difference in this simple home and the one she left in Las Vegas. There was no untidiness or displayed trinkets, a few books—borrowed from a public library from their covers. They showed her the bedrooms, barely large enough for one bed, but the rooms were not cluttered with possessions. A few photographs hung on the walls, several of Ann, her husband, and Pam as a child. In her mother's room, there was two small photographs—one of Sara when she was six or seven years old, looking very solemn in a school uniform. The other was of a young couple standing in front of a car—her mother and father, her mother smiled at the camera while her father looked at her mother. Her mother removed both pictures from the wall.

As Sara looked at the pictures, her mother asked, "Would you like these? I have a box downstairs of a few more. Would you like to see those?" Her mother removed the pictures from their frames and turned each one over. "You wrote your name and age on this one."

Sara saw her own childish printing on the backside. "I don't remember wearing a uniform to school." She said.

Her mother disappeared, returning with a small box. "Here are a few things. Pictures and a few papers." Ann and Pam had vanished when the box arrived. Laura Sidle brought out a hand full of photographs and papers. And in this evening Sara began to find memories. Some immediately returned as she looked at pictures of a small dark haired girl, standing by a bicycle, holding a fish with her father beside her, with a birthday cake. Most of the pictures she could not remember. Her mother remembered all of the occasions preserved on paper. In this way the mother and daughter began to reclaim a kinship, but never talking about events of the night that had torn them apart.

They sat together looking at each photograph, her mother telling a story surrounding each one, of a birthday, about the bicycle on Christmas, of a fishing vacation where she caught the only fish on the trip. There was a grade report from fourth grade, all A's and a note written by the teacher of the excellent progress being made by Sara; math was her best subject. Pam and Ann joined them again as the pictures were passed from hand to hand. By the time the box emptied, Sara had seen herself grow from a baby to a gap-toothed ten year old, taller than the other children in the photos. It was almost midnight before the last one was returned to the box.

"Come back tomorrow. We have a lot to catch up on." Her mother suggested as Sara gathered up her jacket and purse. The women insisted on calling a taxi to deliver her to her hotel and all three stood with her on the sidewalk as they waited. She promised to visit again the next day.

In her room, she called Grissom, knowing that he would be working. He answered immediately, telling someone with him that he needed to step outside. "How are you?" he asked. He knew things were better by her voice and hearing her describe the photographs made him smile. It had been a good visit even though neither woman had mentioned a father or a husband.

That night, she slept and did not dream.

The next day she arrived before lunch laden with bags of food for everyone, sandwiches, cookies, cheese, crackers and other little treats she had purchased in an upscale market. She knew the women did not spend hard-earned money on these kinds of foods and watched with a smile as they pulled each item from the bags. Afterwards, the three insisted that Laura take the afternoon off and spend it with Sara.

San Francisco specializes in tourists and the two women melted into the spring sightseers. They rode the cable car over the hill to Fisherman's Wharf and walked along the numerous shops watching as jugglers and bikers and joggers bustled for space with candy eating tourists. They both laughed at the lack of fishermen. Sara paid admission for two tickets to the Aquarium when her mother said she had never been there. The two women wandered open-mouthed in a long transparent tunnel with fish, crab, jellyfish, and sharks swimming around them. They did not have to talk as they watched this cornucopia of sea creatures move in the huge tanks.

By the time they entered the red brick chocolate factory, the sun was low in the sky. They purchased enough to share and began to retrace their steps. Instead of the cable car, they opted for the city bus that would take them within a block of Laura's home. Plans had already been made for Ann and Pam to prepare a meal for Sara. The mother and daughter has talked most of the afternoon, not about the distant past, but about today, and the past month, even about the past year as Sara told her mother about Gil Grissom. She omitted a few details including the secret part of her relationship with Grissom and her abduction by a serial killer. Sara was too familiar with the apprehension that would flash in her mother's eyes.

In the small apartment, the four women ate an Asian meal finished off with a 'Treas Leche Cake' the three milks cake, baked by Maria, adding her heritage to this multi-cultural meal. Sara ate all of it, knowing the women had prepared these dishes especially for her. She stuffed pieces of meat into her mouth and swallowed determined to please the cooks who had no reason to know she was vegetarian.

All three decided they needed to walk with her back to her hotel. Her small room filled with their voices as they described working in some of the local hotels as maids. They told stories of what they found and how dirty visitors could be when they did not have to clean up after themselves. Sara did not tell them what she had seen in hotel rooms.

Before leaving, they extended an invitation to Sara to stay in their small apartment. Already crowded with three adults, Sara refused, insisting she needed the space and blushing when they giggled about her boyfriend visiting. When he came she promised they would meet them.

It was long after midnight when she called Las Vegas.

"Hi." She said when she heard his voice.

He knew the day had gone well from the sound of that one word. "Hi." He leaned back in his chair. Everyone else was in the field while he stayed busy with paperwork. He had time to talk, or to listen, as Sara told him about her day. He laughed as she talked about dinner and how she ate meat for the first time in years.

"I couldn't refuse it, Gil. They had spent all afternoon cooking and baking. I just forked it in and swallowed." She described the apartment saying "There is not a lot of money but they get by. My mother had never been to the aquarium here. I'm sure they count every penny they spend."

"Is there anything they need, Sara? If so, buy it. Put it on your credit card."

She thought for a minute. "I look at their home and see old things, no computer, no cell phones, old television—actually I think they have three—but they don't care. Their world is in that shop."

"You have time. Look around, listen to them and see if they need anything." He chuckled softly. "Should I caution you about placing your values in their lives?"

Sara laughed at his comment. "I know—the story of the spider! I'll try not to kill anyone."

He had closed his office door for privacy as they talked. He told her how much she was missed by everyone, but especially by him. She had wrapped her sheet around her body as she ached to be with him.

"I can't come back, Gil. As much as I miss you, I need to stay."

"I understand. I'll come if you want me to or I can wait. You tell me."

"I miss you so much. The ladies want to meet my boyfriend." She giggled as she said the word. His eyes closed as he heard it; she was much better. It had been weeks since she giggled.

"I'll try to come this weekend. The rodeo is in town so all the cowboys are here."

Quietly, he talked to her until she was nearly asleep and she closed her phone and slept with her hand around it as her connection to him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Finding Memories: Chapter 7**

Her third day in San Francisco was another perfect weather day—cool with bright sun in a cloudless sky. She walked along the bay for blocks before turning inward to the neighborhood and street where her mother lived. Greeted this morning as an expected visitor, Maria had brought home made tortillas to wrap around black beans. Sara liked this kind of food and lost no time in expressing her appreciation. In this way, she mentioned that she was usually a vegetarian, but she ate eggs and cheese.

On this day, the women were finishing alterations on a wedding dress and seven identical bridesmaids' dresses. Each dress had a large tag listing measurements and two dress maker models were changed for each dress. Sara found herself busy as she learned to make adjustments to each of the dummies, laughing as she told stories about the kind of dummies used in her work. She did not say 'former work' but she was almost certain that she would not go back to that kind of work.

Clean white sheets covered all surfaces while they worked on the bride's dress even though the room was exceptionally clean. It was obvious that the four women had worked together for many years; a word or a signal from one got a pin placed or a needle passed. The dresses would be delivered later with two of the women going with them for last minute adjustments. Sara was intrigued with what and how they worked on fabric.

Pam and Maria showed Sara other projects they had in the works. A christening gown was unwrapped and they showed her how they had taken a wedding dress and made this baby's gown. The work was beautiful in design and detail.

"We get plenty money for this!" Maria whispered as if she were sharing state secrets. "Grandmas and tias—aunts—want us to make these from old dresses. Beautiful, yes?"

Sara agreed. She was beginning to understand how four women worked here; dry cleaning was a small part of business.

There was a flurry of work as dresses were wrapped, a taxi called, and Ann and Pam left with the wedding dresses. Maria left for her home leaving Sara and her mother alone as few customers came in late in the day. The two had slowly gained confidence in talking to each other about every day happenings. Neither could approach the subject that hung between them yet an observer would notice the glances one gave the other and see the unspoken questions in their dark eyes.

Ending the day in much the same way as the day before, Sara helped her mother fix a meal and the two women returned with tales of the bride and seven bridesmaids trying on dresses, adjusting a few stitches, and leaving everyone happy.

"We hear all their secrets—no one notices the help," Ann laughed, her face wrinkling with her smile, her accent still pronounced but easier to understand after three days of hearing her words.

Sara watched as the three women finished their meal, and without a word, one cleaned the kitchen while the other two did additional housecleaning chores. She gathered trash and carried it to the bin downstairs. Again, they asked her to stay in the small apartment and again, she politely refused, telling them she might have company in a few days.

Back in her room, she called Grissom. He was in the middle of a crime scene—the rodeo was in town. He was learning more about bulls and bull riding than he wanted to know. Before sleeping, she tried to think of ways to bring her father into a conversation, finally deciding the photographs might be a starting point.

The next two days passed much like others. The women stayed busy. Sara went with Pam to shop one afternoon, hearing how she and her parents arrived from Vietnam as their country was in chaos. They worked until they could buy this business and when her father had died she and her mother kept working. Sara's mother had worked with them for twelve years. They knew her history. They knew she had skilled hands for sewing. She had moved into the apartment over ten years ago.

"It was her idea to make the christening gowns from wedding dresses. Your mother has talent."

At the market, several people asked Pam if they would be at the farmers market on Saturday. On the walk back, Pam explained the questions. At certain times during the year, they would ride with a neighbor to local fields and pick fruit—this time of year strawberries were ripe. On Saturday morning, they would sell the fruit to people coming to the farmers market. It was work, but fun and "we make a pocket full of cash!"

_A/n: Leave us a review, please!! We know people are reading this, so tell us what you think! Lots more to come on this one. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Finding Memories: Chapter 8**

That night when she talked to Grissom she had more stories to tell. He told her about the bull rider. He read a poem to her explaining his thoughts about the poem. His love of poetry always amazed her and he could recall poems from decades ago.

By late Friday, the women had divided work and decided Ann would keep the store open while the others went to the strawberry fields. This was an adventure for them as Sara agreed to go. An hour after climbing into an old van with a driver older than Moses, they joined others in acres of strawberries. Soon Sara learned the backbreaking work of picking ripe strawberries. They picked until the sun was almost gone, gathered up their baskets, paid the owner, and drove into the city as darkness fell.

Collapsing on the sofa, she heard Ann ask what time would they need to go to the market to set up for customers. Sara knew she misunderstood the time. This night she stayed in the apartment, sleeping on the couch in a thin cotton gown that belonged to her mother. Before she had time to check her messages or call Grissom, she was asleep on the sofa.

The door opened just enough for Grissom to see half a face and one dark eye.

"Not here. Farmers Market."

He listened closely to her words, her accent making it difficult to follow her conversation. He had been knocking for ten minutes before the locked door opened. He knew someone was inside because he could hear a singing voice at the same time he heard the cell phone ring from an open window. He was calling the cell phone.

"Sara—is she here?"

"No, no. Farmers market, strawberries."

His hand wiped across his face. The taxi had dropped him at the corner. He had found the hotel but never gained access to her room. After insisting the room be checked, he was told that no one was there; her things were but no one had slept in the room. He left his bag at the desk. The sun was not up yet; he hoped the only place she could be was with her mother.

Now he stood on the step trying to understand what he heard. "Do you know Sara?" he asked.

The face wrinkled into a smile, nodding rapidly. "Farmers market, the strawberries."

"Which way?"

She pointed back to the street giving directions he did not comprehend. On the street he looked for clues. A farmers market should be easy to find and customers even more obvious. Within minutes he found what he wanted—a couple carrying bags of green groceries.

"Excuse me. Farmers market?"

They gave him directions telling him he could not miss it. Several blocks later he found it—a sprawling mass of people and tables covered with everything. How could he ever find Sara? He wedged through the crowd looking for strawberries. His eyes kept moving around the crowds watching for tall, dark haired women. There were plenty of those.

Children, parents, couples, all ages moved shoulder to shoulder around tables heaped with the colors of the season, hands exchanging money for goods, and he was caught in the undulating wave of shoppers where he was the only one in a hurry. Every dark haired person could be Sara.

In the constant chatter, he heard her voice before finding her and watched her smile as she turned away from him. He bumped strollers and carts as he moved faster. She remained in one spot. It happened quickly—he realized she was not shopping, but working, wearing an apron, just as the three women with her.

He watched as she moved behind the table, making change, weighing strawberries, handing bags to customers, smiling, talking—so different from the woman who left him a week ago. She wore her hair in a ponytail. She laughed at something.

"Sara." He said her name twice before she looked up, and when she did, the other women did the same.

"Gil, you came." Her smile spread across her face as her hand reached across the table. He found a way to get behind the table. At some point he realized that people were smiling and watching them. His hands held her face as he looked into dark eyes that sparkled and laughed. She had not stopped smiling even when as he kissed her tasting strawberries, smelling them in her hair. He knew he missed her and until she was in his arms, he had not realized that her absence was more than physical. He wanted to feel her, smell her, taste her, hear her words and have her breathe on him.

"Dear Sara, I've missed you." He whispered in her ear as the other women turned to customers and worked around the couple. They stayed together as the world around them moved, until they both realized he had never officially been introduced and broke apart with embarrassed laughs.

"Mom, Pam, Maria, this is Gil Grissom."

He shook hands with each as a flush crept across his face.

Pam spoke first. "We had sort of figured that out on our own."


	9. Chapter 9

**Finding Memories: Chapter 9**

Grissom reached for Laura Sidle's hand. "It's time we met—you are as beautiful as your daughter." He looked from one to the other thinking, same eyes, same hair, same build, but not the smile. He hooked an arm around Sara's waist. "I'm trying to get her to marry me."

With that simple statement, he became part of this unusual family of women. Pam handed a bag of strawberries to him and pointed at the scale. An hour later, almost every berry had been sold. Sara and Grissom figured out weight and prices in their heads and passed the filled sacks back to the others who took cash from customers.

"I don't think I ever want to see another strawberry." Sara sighed as they placed the leftovers into paper bags. Fourteen baskets had been set out before dawn and what was left fit into 3 small bags.

"You smell like a strawberry," Grissom told her as he ate a bruised berry. "Who picked these?"

"We did! And they have not been washed!" She closed the bag he held. "And I'm wearing the same clothes I picked in and I'm so tired I can barely stand."

Pam and Laura had counted money, paid for their table, and began to divide what was left into five stacks. "We did very well," Pam said. "Here's your share." She passed Sara a stack of bills. Sara looked at the money.

"No," she said. "I won't take a share." And after some soft arguing, the two women agreed to use Sara's share for food.

Grissom found a taxi even though the women said they could walk home carrying foods they had purchased and one bag of strawberries. The other sacks were left on the table for anyone who wanted them. The smells of a late lunch met them at the door; Ann had a vegetable casserole in the oven and salad on the table.

As with her claim of knowing Sara, Ann claimed she knew who Grissom was from the minute he was at the door. They moved the small table away from the wall and shifted chairs so they could eat together. Sara watched as Gil Grissom worked his charisma and good manners on the older women and they reacted as others had, giving him answers to his gentle questions, encouraging them to talk. He kept his hand at her back his thumb making light circles against her shirt. Her foot hooked around his ankle as conversation continued long after food had disappeared.

"Come to the dance with us tomorrow afternoon." Pam said as they talked about what they did on the only day the store downstairs was officially closed. They did not sew on Sundays.

"Do come!" Their combined plea got the couple to agree. "It's for retired people in the neighborhood—everyone goes, no one checks age!" Pam laughed as she described the mix of dancers.

With tomorrow's plans made, Sara and Grissom walked the blocks to her hotel. Grissom retrieved his bag from the front desk and followed Sara to the small room. Once the door closed, he pulled her into his arms.

"Shower, Gil. Shower first." She broke from him as he hooked a thumb in her jeans. "I need a shower. I've been up since dawn—before dawn!" He followed her into the bathroom.

"Together. I'm not letting you out of my sight for twenty-four hours." He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it. They shed clothing and shoes, turned on the shower, and stepped inside.

As water covered them, the two lovers found each other, desire overcoming fatigue, and moved them from shower to bed in slow motion. Her hands moved across his skin as his lips found sensitive sexual places along her neck, across her chest, the inside of her wrist. His hands felt her readiness as her back arched and a quiet moan escaped. In minutes an ocean of warm waves swept over her in the passionate embrace of female orgasm. He followed her closely with an explosive climax that caused him to say her name over and over. Her hands combed through his hair as his gentle fingers found her breasts. In the quietness of the late day, they both slept the sleep of the contented.

Hours later, Sara woke finding arms wrapped around her and two blue eyes watching her. "I've missed you every minute." He said.

She kissed him with an open, deep kiss, curling even closer to him. "I love you, Gil. More every day." Her head lay against his chest. "I miss you more than I can say, but I can't go back, not yet."

"I know, Sara, I understand. You need time. Your mother is a very private person. She enjoys having you here—she may never say it, but it's in her eyes. You have her eyes, you know."

"I can't ask her about my father, Gil. It's like there is a wall and we talk about everything but this huge wall that we can't get over or around."

She felt a deep chest chuckle come from the man beside her. "You will, honey. You will." She had stayed with him until his wall had crumbled. "Just don't take too long."

Her elbow found his ribs. She knew what he meant. "You were just stubborn."

They wrapped arms and legs around each other and drifted back to sleep finding it easy to have sweet dreams as they touched and breathed the same air.

_A/N: You've read this much--now leave us a little review. We are posting another chapter later today! This does have an end to love!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Finding Memories: Chapter 10**

She smelled coffee before she opened her eyes. Then she smelled Grissom and moved her hand to find him next to her. She opened one eye. He was propped against pillows holding a book.

"You ready for coffee?" He asked. "And there are muffins from downstairs."

Sara mumbled an answer and he padded across the room for her cup. "You look good this morning," she said as she watched him fix coffee. She rolled so she could see him, thinking he looked good from this angle, bare feet, boxers, and t-shirt, then he turned around. "Hey, hot stuff." Her low tone mimicked an old movie star and he grinned.

"What kind of dance are we going to?" He asked as he handed her the coffee and slipped back into bed. "I'm not much for dancing—you know that."

She snuggled up next to him before answering. "Senior center. You should like the music." She giggled. "No rock and roll, no rap. All the ladies will be lining up to dance with you!"

A few hours later, her words became true. The women outnumbered men by four to one, but that lopsided figure did nothing to stop dancers as women danced together in groups of two, three, and four. The band, made up of musicians in their seventies, played song after song from past eras. As band members took breaks, someone else would step on the stage and sing or play the piano or play an instrument in solo performances. Grissom danced. Twice he plead extreme exhaustion and sat down for a couple of songs; otherwise he had a partner, or a couple of partners. Three times as music slowed, he found Sara and took her to the floor.

"We should dance more often." He told her. That they fit together so well was no surprise.

She frowned at him in a mocking way. "I remember when you would not dance with me. You told everyone you didn't dance and stayed at the table all night."

"If I remember correctly, you had plenty of partners that night."

"Trying to make you jealous."

"You wore a cream colored dress and had a black velvet ribbon around her neck. And an ankle bracelet."

She looked at him with mouth open. "You remember."

"Yeah." He pulled her closed, folding her hand against his chest. "I need to make up for lost dances."

After the last song played and the place put in order, Grissom insisted on taking the three women to dinner telling them to pick a new place; one they wanted to try. He kept an arm around Sara as they discussed a few places, asked others about certain restaurants, before deciding on a Japantown restaurant. Grissom wanted to call a cab, but the three women, accustomed to walking and riding public buses, refused. They knew how to get to this place and a bus ride was cheap and easy.

The restaurant was not fancy and food was served café style, but the taste was unbeatable and delicious; the selection ranked with gourmet eateries. Grissom, again, charmed the older women with his subtle questions, his polite responses to their questions. Sara smiled as his blue eyes met hers across the table.

A taxi deposited the three roommates at their place after Grissom assured them he would see them before returning to Las Vegas the next day.

In the cab, he pulled Sara close. "We don't get out enough. Today was fun."

Sara snickered as she said, "Catherine would not believe you danced—and you are good. This is a secret I might tell."

He responded with a quiet laugh. "I don't dance like Catherine dances."

Hours later, Sara stirred in her sleep, muttering words before she cried out. Grissom woke instantly. These dreams had disturbed her sleep for years. He gently shook her awake and got her water.

"Still the same dream?" He asked.

She nodded. He knew the dream; a child left behind, wandering empty rooms, running until the child in Sara cried out. He held her until she went back to sleep. She had other dreams which woke her; alone she would stay awake, but he had learned ways to soothe her back into sleep.

The morning came and both remained in bed much longer than most on a Monday morning. Grissom knew he would leave later; he knew Sara would remain behind; he knew he would return to this room. She had not buried her ghosts. They dressed and walked to the bay.

"We came here nine years ago." He said as they walked hand in hand.

She pulled him into a hug. "I'm not ready to leave, Gil. You will come back?"

He left late in the afternoon after visiting the four women who were waiting for them. Sara remained with them promising to call, to be safe, to do all those things lovers promise on parting. The four women made tea, brought out cookies, told stories that made her laugh so she would not think only of his departure.


	11. Chapter 11

**Finding Memories: Chapter 11**

Day followed day as Sara joined the four working women. She watched, she learned to operate the cash drawer; she worked on a broken sewing machine which amazed the other women. Every day she called Grissom; in early morning he told her about his shift, what everyone was doing, making grim events less so in his telling. Late at night, she called again, retelling what she had done, learned, talked about.

At mid-week in a conversation with her mother, Sara learned that her mother had grown up in Oregon, a small place on the coast. "I've always wanted to go back one day. My parents are buried up there."

"We could go," Sara volunteered. "Why not?"

Immediately, her mother shook her head. "Oh, no. We couldn't. It's so expensive. There's not even a bus line that goes there."

Sara smiled at her. "Let me do this. We'll have fun. I can rent a car. The others can go, too." But in discussing the trip with the other women, they decided to remain behind, keep the store open, so Laura could be gone longer.

"Have a real road trip." Pam suggested. As the youngest of the three roommates—she was nearly twenty years older than Sara—she was the leader in making plans.

"Bring us souvenirs," Ann said as they laughed at their ideas of a road trip.

Sara called Grissom who hesitantly asked if he was invited. It took her ten seconds to say "of course". And on impulse, a whim, or urgent desire to be with her, he walked into human resources at the crime lab and placed leave papers on the desk requesting vacation time for two weeks.

On Saturday morning, he landed in San Francisco, paid extra for a convertible rental car, called Sara to let her know he would arrive shortly, and pressed a hat to his head. Five women greeted him when he pulled to the curb in front of the dry cleaning business. Three continued with uninterrupted chatter as suitcases were put in the trunk and farewells were made as if the three travelers would be gone for months instead of a few days.

They had decided on a scenic route instead of interstate driving, taking them across the Golden Gate Bridge and the Marin headlands, passing Tomales bay before turning inland. The highway rose above the ocean following a corkscrew of pavement that provided a scenic view at every turn. Grissom stopped whenever his two passengers desired. He turned on a side road leading to a lighthouse where they 'took the tour' climbing to the top for more spectacular views of the coastline.

At a small town, Grissom pulled into the parking lot of a redwood inn built a century ago. Laura had talked along the way, but the inn caused her to retreat into silence as they entered the lobby.

Grissom gave her a key to a room saying "This is our treat. Enjoy!" Turning to Sara, he said, "Sara, can you get your mom settled? I need a nap before dinner." She agreed and he headed to their room while the two women went to Laura's room. Outside, the sky was clear, the air cool, and two lawn chairs on grass seemed to provide an invitation.

At first neither talked as they watched the ocean, the waves, and birds flying overhead. Laura's hand touched Sara's arm.

"This is a wonderful treat for me, Sara."

Sara smiled at her mom. "It's something I should have done years ago."

"Gil is a good man."

"He is."

"Will you marry him?"

This question went to Sara's heart. She honestly did not know. On the day he asked her, she felt as if she were walking in a dream world when she gave her spontaneous answer. He had not pressed her, he had not asked for a date or put restrictions on her; instead, he had done everything he could to show her how much he loved her—certainly for better or worse in the days before she left Las Vegas.

"I will." She smiled. "At some point. I'd hate to rush things."

"Your father and I rushed things." This statement stopped Sara's breath—it was the first time her mother had made reference to her father other than with the photographs. "We were so young when we married."

Sara tried to breathe. "How did you meet?"

Laura signed deeply. "We lived in the same area, knew the same people. One summer—he had a job in a logging camp. I thought he was the best looking boy I had ever seen." Her hand lightly stroked Sara's arm. "You have his smile. It suits you."

"I barely remember him, Mom."

"Every child should know her parents—or someone who becomes their parent. Your father was a—a—he was not always like he was when he died. At first, he was funny, charming in a boyish way." She brushed hair behind her ear in a way that was familiar to all who knew her daughter.

She continued, "Logging was hard work. After a week of that work, a lot of men drank all weekend. Then as jobs got scarce, some drank even more. We left when you were three. My parents were dead; we had no reason to stay. San Francisco sounded like a good place to move." She was quiet for some time her fingers moved along Sara's arm. "It didn't help. Things just went from bad to worse."

Sara said nothing waiting and hoping her mother would continue. When she did, the subject had changed. "You were such a good girl. Always studied, even from first grade. A pencil and paper and you would practice letters for hours." A smile came in her voice. "Do you remember third grade?" Sara shook her head. "The teacher called me one day. You did not want to go to recess, had not gone out for several days. You had found the encyclopedia set in the classroom and wanted to read instead of play."

Sara's head lifted, "I do remember that. I had forgotten."

"That was the same teacher who came to the house to tell me how smart you were. IQ over the top, highest one the school had ever seen. You were given two different tests and you just scored over the top."

"Nerd from third grade."

"Smart from third grade. We moved every year. You had a new school for fourth grade, another one for fifth." Laura sighed again and Sara knew her words had reached a stopping point. They sat in silence for so long that Sara thought her mother had gone to sleep.

"I should have left," she whispered. "But there was no place to go, or I thought there was no place to go."

Sara's hand wrapped around her mother's. She tried to say something but her voice caught and no words came out.

Her mother continued. "I never meant to hurt him; I never wanted to hurt you." Tears ran down her face.

A/N: Read and leave us a note!! We will disappear for a couple of days, but will be back on Sunday. May get another chapter posted before we leave, so read _and leave a review for us!! Thanks!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Finding Memories: Chapter 12**

"Don't cry, Mom." She wiped her own eyes.

Grissom found the two women sitting quietly watching the ocean. With one look, he knew something had passed and words spoken between mother and daughter. He pulled a chair near them, found Sara's hand and took it in his own.

"You've got a wonderful daughter, Laura." And he talked about the coast, the undeveloped natural area they were in, and dinner. His ease brought smiles to both women and soon they joined him in talking about 'things'—not a father, not a husband, not a broken home, nor a lost childhood.

In their room that night, Sara tried not to cry as she related her mother's story to Grissom. "It was so hard for her, Gil. I didn't want to see her that way. She almost seems to be frightened of me."

He held her in an intimate embrace, one that provided comfort and security. From months of being her lover and companion, he knew that she craved his touch as an important part of their relationship. Working with her on a daily basis he had seen her avoid contact when others demanded it; he had seen her provide comfort with no one else thought it necessary.

When they finally slept, he wrapped her in a cocoon of arms and blankets whispering to her soothing words of comfort and encouragement. Dreams did not wake her and early morning got her up and along a path to the ocean. She left a note for Grissom.

Returning, she found Grissom and her mother eating breakfast, heads together in conversation and a map between them. Her concerns of the night had diminished and the early morning walk had put color in her face and lifted her spirits. The two at the table had plotted the trip. Grissom pointed out several places of interest, letting the women decide where to stop, what to see.

Sara ate, showing a degree of happiness that had been gone for weeks. By noon they turned away from the coastline and took a route underneath the towering redwoods. They drove in silence as shadows of trees formed a cathedral over their heads, finding a place to walk among ferns and enjoy the stillness of this place.

Making a quick decision to spend the night among these giant trees, they retraced their path to a small roadside motel with rooms and cabins set in a forest of century old redwoods. Grissom unloaded bags while the women went in search for food, returning with pizza, finding him sitting on a swing on the porch.

That night, the three shared a cabin with two pristine bedrooms with brass beds and thick white duvets and old furniture polished with a patina of age. High windows covered with thin white curtains opened to the sounds of wind in the tall trees and rushing water from a nearby river.

Quietly and unhurried, Grissom made love to the only woman who had ever captured his heart and secured his soul. He would say he was not the romantic lover of novels and movies, but Sara knew—with his quiet words, his gentle touch, and his yearning look, he would be her only lover for as long as she lived.

His last thought before sleep was of her. She had refused to believe he could not love or be loved. He knew she would win this battle with her past. The woman he loved had no limits to her determination. He smiled as he held her against his chest as he felt her warm sleeping breath.

The next morning, they wanted to stay at this quiet oasis among trees that blocked the sky, but knew their destination was north. Grissom stopped often, roadside markets, scenic overlooks, a path across dunes. By late afternoon, they were two small towns away from the town they sought.

"Stop or continue?" he asked.

"Stop," they both answered.

They found a small ocean side hotel for the night and walked along the shore as the sun set. Laura and Grissom watched as Sara rolled up pants and waded into the surf, leaving them sitting on rocks on the beach.

"She's a good person," her mother stated.

Grissom softly chuckled. "She is better than good, Laura. She is the most compassionate person I've ever known. She's the only person I've ever loved."

"How long have you known each other?"

"Nine years—almost ten." He watched as Sara jumped low waves and bent to retrieve something in the water. Moonlight picked up the white capped waves, her white shirt, and made her skin glow in soft muted cream colors. To say he loved her seemed too simple for what he wanted to say to her mother.

"I have loved her almost as long as I've known her. She is usually so optimistic, her energy is boundless." He laughed, quietly, again. Her dedication to him was almost embarrassing, and at times exasperating. Her mother did not need to hear that. "Sara needs…she needs a history. We have a future together, but she is trying to find…" He stopped and watched the subject of his words as she backed away from incoming waves.

"She needs to hear about her father."

"Yeah. She does." He looked at Laura. "And she needs to know her mother…know her as family."

Laura smiled at him. "She will." Her eyes moved to Sara. "I know something happened to her. Maria found it in the paper—a short article about a Las Vegas investigator kidnapped. It gave her name. She hasn't said anything."

They stood as Sara ran back to them. Grissom waved and said, "I'll tell her you know about it. Might make it easier for her—it was my fault it happened." And their conversation closed as Sara pulled smooth rocks and a few shells from her pockets exclaiming that her feet were cold.

Conversation at dinner was easy with Laura telling decades-old stories about the coast, her high school days, how remote the area had been, and the wet winters. As they spent time together, she found it easier to talk. Mother and daughter looked alike; the same hair, the same eyes, the same walk; Sara was several inches taller, but appeared much taller. Grissom observed the two during dinner, his eyes staying on Sara most of the time. She would glance at him and smile, turn back to her mother and continue talking. The three, he decided, made good companions.

That night, he noticed a small red spot on the back of his leg; some small insect bite, no doubt, and he gave it no other thought as he and Sara went to bed.

_A/N: We are away from the computer until Sunday--so be kind and leave a short review for us to find!! And the ending is one you will love! Not typical, but we think its lovely!_


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Thanks for comments/reviews. Another chapter later today. _

**Finding Memories: Chapter 13**

The next morning their scenic drive seemed to have ended as they passed one motel, strip mall, and gift shop after another. Much of this was 'new' since Laura Sidle had moved away over thirty years before. The highway they had taken entered pastureland and crossed large areas with logged-off mountain sides.

Laura became quiet as they neared the small town. Instead of a beach and sunbathers, the waterfront was filled with fishing boats and the small industry to support commercial fishing. The town had several no-frills motels along its piers and eating places within a short walk. Grissom picked the place based on nothing more than available parking.

The two rooms proved to exceed expectations and Grissom laughed as both women checked beds and bathrooms for cleanliness. "It's genetic." He said with a laugh, his hand absently scratched his leg.

Early in the afternoon, they found the town's old cemetery with Laura's directions. Change had been slow in coming to this area; logging had moved on or come to a halt, commercial fishing served some, while cows and small farms kept others in the area. Laura had no problems finding the graves she sought. Passing years had brought closure to any grieving and sadness connected to those buried here, yet quietness overtook the three who walked among the stones.

"Here's your great grandfather and your great grandmother." Laura pointed to an old headstone, elaborately carved stone with vines and flowers surrounding names and dates. "Here's two aunts—never married, my great aunts. Both my parents were only children." She moved to a more recent stone, nearly forty years old. "Here are my parents."

Sara noticed dates; one was just weeks before her own birthday. The woman's name was her own. "I have my grandmother's name?" She formed it as a question.

"You do. She died suddenly just a few weeks before you were born. My dad, your grandfather, was much older, and he sort of faded away." Her hand touched Sara's. "It was so difficult to be happy with my baby girl and grieve for my mother at the same time."

Sara looked into eyes as dark as her own as her mother talked, telling her about the first months of life, remembered as if the days were recent instead of thirty-five years ago. Grissom had wandered away as the two women talked.

"Your father's parents are buried here too. I think I can find them." Laura said as she walked between graves. "His mother died when he was young. His dad died in a truck accident of some kind." They walked along rows of headstones looking for a specific name. They heard a soft whistle.

Grissom waved a hand above his head. When the two women reached his side, his arm went around Sara as she looked at the name carved on the marker. Sidle. Her last name.

Sara wrapped an arm around her mother and they stood in silence for several minutes. Laura pointed to another, older stone, with the same name. "Your great grandparents. Your family was in this area for a long time."

Rain started before they returned to the car, causing Grissom to run and put the top up on the convertible. They drove slowly around town, finding Laura's high school—no longer a school, seeing buildings that had not benefited from recent progress or development. Finding an open café, they ran through rain to get inside.

Within minutes, hot coffee and home made pie was placed before them. Two of three waitresses hovered over them while they ate, asking questions as waitresses do in nearly empty places. When told Laura had lived in the small town years, before, the third waitress joined them.

The woman tilted her head, thinking of faces long forgotten, until she said, "Laura Sidle, I should know you anywhere!" In seconds, the two had established a school connection with names coming together that had not been said in decades. She pulled a chair to their table proceeding to cover forty years of high school memories and stories of young families, divorces, and death. With a promise to return, they left the café and continued a walking tour of the streets that went no where; closed stores outnumbered the open ones.

Laura pointed out the abandoned movie theatre, a former drug store which was now a dollar store, a garage apartment she had shared with another girl after high school. Sporadic rain fell, ceased and started again leaving puddles to wade or walk around.

The motel owner found them when they returned, handing over a message for Laura from the waitress. Several former classmates and friends wanted to meet her at the café.

"I'm staying here," Grissom said. "To read, take a nap, make a few phone calls."

Sara was a spectator for several hours as older women returned to childhood recalling school days, church parties, dances, boyfriends, and dreams of young girls. She was amazed as her mother laughed and became young again in the eyes of these women. Listening to numerous stories, she heard her father mentioned only twice, in side whispers of the other women. They had known him as an older boy who had faded from their world; they knew he died, but none asked when or how. If they knew the truth, they were skillful at avoiding or hiding it.

When Sara entered their motel room, she knew something was wrong. Grissom was awake but lying in bed, a towel wrapped around his leg.

"What's going on," she asked as she sat beside him.

He unwrapped the towel. "I think it's a spider bite." His lower leg was swollen, red, and hot to her touch.

"This does not look good, Gil." The red area was the size of her palm with a small open area at its center. She looked at him, back at the area, and got up. "I'll be right back." At the door she turned, "Don't go anywhere."


	14. Chapter 14

**Finding Memories: Chapter 14**

In a few minutes she was back with directions to the nearest emergency care center. Her mother was with her.

Laura was the one who handed him a pair of pants. He hesitated a minute before getting out of bed. "I've been tailoring pants for years, Gil, you don't have anything I haven't seen before." She laughed as she held his pants. "Put these on or we take you in your shorts."

They had to wait for the doctor but once the nurse saw his leg, they moved fast. Grissom said Sara was his wife—knowing no one ever asked for proof—so she could stay with him. He had to take his pants off, complaining again that a little over the counter treatment was all he needed.

The physician thought otherwise. He immediately ordered an IV antibiotic and moved them to a curtained cubicle. "It looks like a brown spider—hobo—we call it."

Grissom tried to see the bite on the back of his leg. "Tegenaria agrestis? But the spot hasn't reacted in typical fashion."

A discussion of spiders and the doctor realized Grissom knew more than expected about spiders and their bites. As the antibiotic was started, they talked about venomous spiders, the 'local' ones and varying degrees of bites.

The physician examined the wound again, asking if Sara wanted to see it with a magnifying light. As she looked, he described the bite for Grissom. "This looks like a dry bite—he or she wasn't looking for food, just angry at being trapped."

"Is that good?" asked Sara.

"Yes." Both men answered as once. The doctor continued. "Your long pants irritated the area. You probably scratched it too. How long will you be here?"

He and Sara looked at each other, then she said, "A day or so."

"You need to keep this elevated for ten to twelve hours, you can walk, sleep. You can ride in a car, just keep your foot up." The doctor wrapped a sterile bandage over the wound. He looked at Sara. "We'll give you some of this stuff. After a shower, dry it and rewrap the area. Bring him back tomorrow or the next morning." He shook Grissom's hand. "This antibiotic will take about an hour. I'll see you before you go."

He left the cubicle and Sara took his seat and rolled around to face Grissom, a smile on her face. "Hey, Babe." She kissed him.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" He was lying on his stomach, an IV in one hand, his leg wrapped in white gauze.

She snickered. "The bug man gets bitten by a bad bug. Yeah, it's funny." She played her hands gently through his hair. "But I still love you." She kissed him again.

"Will you marry me?" He asked in a quiet voice.

Sara smiled stretched across her face. "You pick the weirdest places to ask someone to marry you, Gilbert." This time she touched his lips and brought hers to his in a deep, prolonged kiss. "Yes, I will. Soon."

He rested his chin on one hand. "Cover my butt and bring your mother in here."

Before she got up, she kissed him again. "This is nice."

"Sara…Sara, your mother knows about—the kidnapping. She told me."

Sara sat back down. "She knows?"

"She does. She read it in the paper."

"Oh," was all she could say.

He rested on his elbows. "Why don't you tell her? Tell her what you told me, honey." She sat there for a few minutes. "You okay?" He touched her chin.

She smiled her wide grin. "I am. We're getting better at talking. I think we really like each other." She got up and covered his backside, patting his rear as she did so. "I'll go get her. Stay here." He heard her giggle as she separated the curtains and disappeared.

When they returned, a nurse had turned him, elevated his foot and attached another bag of antibiotics. Sara and Laura waited, talking quietly; Sara's hand lay on Grissom's chest, his hand on top of hers. Every few minutes, he complained—more joking than serious, but kept both women laughing at his comments. The doctor returned, checking the antibiotic and talked about insects again.

"I think he checked me out on the internet," Grissom said after the doctor left.

Shortly, a nurse appeared with instructions, a sack filled with medicines, and additional sterile bandages. Grissom, ready to go, grabbed his pants and dressed in seconds.

"Wait. You have to sign that you understand your instructions." The nurse said trying to halt his exit.

He pointed to Sara. "Let her sign. She'll make sure I do it." He laughed as Sara scratched her name across the paper.

He did not resist when the two women firmly put him to bed and within minutes he was asleep. The rain had started again, creating a waterfall off the roof of the motel. Sara paced the room until her mother pulled her into a chair.

"I—I guess I've been in the desert too long to appreciate rain."

"Didn't it rain the night you were kidnapped?" Laura asked in a voice so soft that Sara would not have heard her a few feet away.

Sara nodded.

"I read about it in the paper. Maria found it and showed it to me."

_A/N: Another chapter tonight--so be kind and leave us a few words, please! We have a little angst coming up, but this story is fluff--nothing bad is going to happen. So, if you are reading, write a review--not much, but a word to let us know what you think--thanks!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Finding Memories Chapter 15**

Except for the rainfall and faint sounds of sleep coming from Grissom, the room was quiet until Sara sighed and began talking. She told her mother about Natalie, about being in the car's trunk and climbing out, fighting with her kidnapper. She stopped to breathe; her mother got up and returned with a glass of water for her.

She picked up her story, saying some things were not clear, but she knew a coyote came near her when she was trapped underneath the car, then the rain came, nearly drowning her before she escaped. After that, her hours in the desert became a blur. She knew she wanted to live; to see Grissom again, to be with him always. Yet above it all, she heard her mother's voice calling her name. Over and over again.

When Laura thought her daughter had said all she could say, she reached for her daughter's hand. However, Sara continued, saying what she had not said to anyone else.

"I heard you calling my name and saw—I know it was a dream—my father was standing behind you." Her hand griped her mother's. "I was afraid to answer you. I knew I would die."

Behind them, Grissom was awake, hearing Sara tell the story he knew so well. As she finished, he rose and found both women sitting in the dark by the windows. He went to Sara and gently lifted her from her chair, took the seat, and pulled her into his lap.

"Your leg," she objected. He raised his foot to rest it on the bed and folded his arms around her.

"I need you here," he whispered to her. She curled into the chair with him. Again, the quietness of the room was complete; the rain continued outside.

When Laura started talking, her voice trembled but as her words continued, they came fast, clear, and steady. "You don't remember much about your father. I don't imagine you can remember much about the night he died." She made a soft sound as if clearing her throat. "It rained that day."

Otherwise, the day started like most others. Sara was sent to school; her father left. Her mother shopped, cleaned their small house, and did other housework. She remembered eating a sandwich for lunch before her husband returned home; complaining of a stomach ache, but Laura knew by then that a stomach ache or a headache was another excuse for his drug use. He disappeared into the bedroom for hours.

Sara returned home and spread schoolwork across the kitchen table. Her mother recalled the exact foods she was preparing for their dinner. At some point, Sara's father stumbled into the kitchen wanting food. His wife told him it was almost ready. That was the last sentence Laura remembered speaking before her nightmare began. The kitchen was destroyed. Sara had hidden behind a door as her father threw anything he could find as her mother tried to escape.

When he reached behind the door for the scared, hidden child, her mother found the knife. She did not stop with one cut, but kept hitting the man even after he fell, until the knife broke against a bone. The child's screams brought neighbors and the police and a social worker. There was no family to call, no money to spend on lawyers.

Laura spent days in a holding cell before being transferred to a women's mental hospital. She had not talked for days except to say one name, over and over. The name of the child—Sara.

When Laura stopped talking, Grissom held Sara and tenderly wiped her cheek with his thumb. He reached for Laura's hand and kept it in his when she continued.

"I had no way to find you. One of the neighbors collected some things in the house—that's how I got the box of pictures we looked at. You were put in foster care immediately. Weeks went by before they finally brought you to the hospital. Do you remember coming to see me? It must have been horrible for you—I was in a bad way."

"I remember seeing you, the smell of the place. I don't remember much else."

Laura told them of months spent in psychiatric care, eventually moving to a group home, and her daughter remained in foster care. Twice a year, she got a report on her only child written by a case worker. The court had determined no contact and termination of parental rights until 'said child' was eighteen. By then, the child's IQ had gotten her into college and she was gone.

"I saw you at my graduation."

Laura nodded her head, "Your case worker really tried—she was the one who got me to your graduation. She kept up with you for a year or two after you were out of foster care." They heard a quiet sigh. "I sent you a birthday card when you turned eighteen. You had been in college for—a year, or was it two?"

"I got it."

After several minutes of silence, Sara's mother continued with her story. Grissom kept one arm around Sara and his other hand on Laura's. "I didn't want you to know how I had to live. That sounds so selfish. I truly believed you were better off without me." Quietness enveloped them again as the only sound was the rain rushing off the rooftop hitting pavement and cars creating a white noise of nothingness.

"I lived in rooming houses for years, sometimes sharing a room with someone like me, sometimes I had my own room. When you came back and found me, I was cleaning in hotels—that's where I met Ann—we were both working as maids and she offered me work at the dry cleaners. We could both sew, do alterations."

Sara's voice broke in, "I would have helped you. You tore up my check."

In the darkness, they heard a small laugh from the older woman. "I was so proud of you. You have no idea how you looked to me that day—so beautiful, so self-assured, so unlike me. I didn't want to be a burden for you to look after. By that time, I was working for Ann and her husband and doing so much better. I did not want you to think I needed your help."


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: One more chapter after this one. We may post tonight or early tomorrow. Leave a review for this little fluff!_

**Finding Memories Chapter 16**

In one of those smooth and graceful movements that Grissom knew so well, Sara was kneeling beside her mother, had taken the hand he had continue to hold, and brought both to her face.

"I was also very young, very pompous, very self-absorbed. I thought money would buy anything," she whispered.

Her mother's hand touched her daughter's face and in the shadows of street lights, the two gripped each other in a long absent embrace. Grissom breathed again; he thought he might have held his breath for the past ten minutes if that were possible.

When the two women parted, Grissom saw hands that were nearly identical wipe tears from the face of the other. He filled plastic cups with water and passed to both women, leaving the chair for Sara. He stretched out on the bed, hearing the two women talk again, about childhood events long hidden in a mother's mind. Before he dosed, he heard a giggle.

Dreams, he thought, dreaming about the slim, warm body next to his. It wasn't a dream; she was here, light touches of her fingertips traced his face; her lips followed.

"Hi," he murmured, "did you sleep?"

"I did. How does your leg feel?"

"It's fine." He rolled to face her. She might have slept but not enough to erase dark circles under her eyes. But her eyes were bright, a warm light glowed deep inside; Sara had come back to him. He wrapped arms around her, his voice was muffled by her hair. "Do you think your mother knows what we do in the early morning?"

"I'm sure she does." She laughed softly. "I don't care. I don't care about anything but being here with you."

"Sara," he took her face between his hands and kissed her as she met him with a passion as fierce as his own. In the quiet, velvet darkness before dawn, she stroked his hair, kissing him as he traced her body with his hands.

Grissom thought of Proteus, of Greek mythology, as she moved as liquid through his fingers, waves of the sea rising and crashing around him. He knew he was not the first man to think this about a woman as he whispered her name again. Much later, he came out of sleep to find her against his shoulder, legs and arms covering him with a reckless abandonment rarely exhibited in waking moments.

Rain continued to fall outside. Later he slipped from the bed leaving Sara sprawled across the bed in a sound slumber. He made coffee and eased from their room. He saw lights on and drapes open in Laura's room and knocked softly on the door. He held out a cup of coffee when she opened the door.

"Sara is still sleeping," he told her.

"Come in. She needs sleep. How is your leg?" Laura took the coffee he offered. "There is so much to say, so much to remember."

He stood in the doorway. "I won't come in; I don't want to leave her for long. She'll decide what she wants to do, but I think she will stay with you. I want you to know you are always welcome in our home."

She smiled and thanked him. "I've made a home with Ann and Pam for years. We work and live well together. I expect to stay there." She smiled again. "I might take the bus to Las Vegas one day. I would like to see where Sara lives. This trip has been so nice, Gil. Even with the rain—makes me realize why I live in San Francisco."

The two stood in a comfortable silence watching rain, drinking coffee. Laura spoke, "If you feel like it, I think we should start back today. This rain can keep going for days and I think we will enjoy more sun in San Francisco."

They traveled to the interstate highway and Sara drove south with Grissom in the back seat, his foot propped between the seats. His spider bite was much improved confirmed by the physician after Sara and her mother insisted he see the doctor one more time with a promise to see his own physician should infection occur.

Late afternoon found them back in California leaving rain to the north. Grissom was the one who spotted the bed and breakfast inn located on a hillside among a vineyard.

"Take the next exit!" He called from the back seat. They had lowered the convertible top as soon as the rain had stopped and he was wearing his favorite hat. He had worked with the vineyard owners in the past and with a phone call had a received a welcomed place to stay for the night.

Grissom was quick to find the owner and disappeared to talk bugs and insects. Laura and Sara were shown to a bedroom for Laura and a small cottage for Sara and Grissom, and in thirty minutes the two were drinking wine under a pergola. They dressed for dinner with Grissom still absent and sitting in the dining room, they heard his voice in the back of the house.

"Bugs—insects." Sara said as she laughed. "I've learned they will win out every time. He won't eat, he won't sleep if he's got a bug project going on."

"He's a good man, Sara. Not everyone would have taken their girlfriend's mother on this kind of trip." She nodded toward the door. "And I love that hat."

Grissom stood in the door, looking tentatively into the dining room, hat in hands. He had 'washed up' and appeared to be seeking approval to enter the dining room when he spotted the two women.

"Sorry I'm late." He took the vacant chair and eating absent-mindedly, he told them about his tour of the vineyard, and his cheerful reporting made the two women listen, laugh, and agree with his enthusiasm. By the time he finished dessert, they had moved on to other subjects.

Laura asked him, "How long will you stay with us in San Francisco?"

He held up two fingers. "I've got two weeks of leave." He looked at Sara. "And, if your daughter agrees, I want to marry her before I leave."

Sara's eyes widened as she sucked in air. Several minutes passed before she looked from Grissom to her mother. "Do you really want to?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

_A/N: We are almost at the end of this story. Lots of readers, so leave us a little note! _


	17. Chapter 17

**Finding Memories Chapter 17**

"I do." He reached for her hand. "I really want to do this. I know it's a piece of paper; I know you don't want a big wedding. We can go to city hall." He looked at Sara's mother. "We can have your mother as our witness." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Say yes."

Sara dropped her head for a moment and when her eyes met his, he knew she had made her decision. Later, she told him she wanted to stay in San Francisco 'for a little longer.' He agreed without reservation; but by then, he would have agreed to walk across Nevada in his bare feet.

Laura was delivered back to her home where her three friends and co-workers were waiting to hear about her trip. Her journey's story was postponed for an announcement from Sara and their excitement of an impending wedding surpassed their eagerness to hear about Laura's visit to her birthplace. They wanted to make a dress for Sara which she turned down, explaining there was no time—the wedding would be the next day. Pam ended up sending Grissom to a men's store for something appropriate and took Sara to a small shop where the sales lady took one look at the tall, slim body and brought out three dresses. Sara chose the first one she tried on.

The last night they were to spend as an unmarried couple found both gazing at the two shrouded outfits hanging in their hotel room. Neither had looked at what the other had chosen for the event. Grissom was certain she had chosen something he would like—she always looked good. Sara hid her concern for his selection telling herself that he usually made excellent decisions about his clothes, except for several things he wore that she did not want to think about now.

Following his instructions, she had packed her things and they would be leaving this motel; he had made other arrangements, he said. If she were staying in San Francisco, then she would be living in a safer, more spacious place than this one room.

Grissom dressed first, standing in front of the mirror with his tie, while Sara dressed in the bathroom. His first look of her came from the mirror's reflection as she walked behind him. She had already seen him in his dark suit and white shirt looking as if he had just stepped away from the tailors of London. His hand splayed across his own chest as he turned.

"Be still my heart," he whispered. She was truly a vision from a dream, dressed in the palest of pink. It looked like it had been made especially for her. She seldom wore a dress, but when she did, he knew from past experience, he had difficulty taking his eyes from her. This one flirted around her body hugging the right spots and ended above her knees.

Their hands met. "You look good." She told him as his arms folded her against chest. His eyes closed as he held her for a few minutes.

"You make me happy—I'm a very selfish man, Sara. I am older than you. I work too much. I'll ignore you on occasions when I should not. I never thought I would marry anyone, but today, you will become my wife—everything a man could wish for. I hope to be the husband you expect me to be."

She cradled his face with her hands. "Gil—how long have I carried you in my heart? My best memories began with you, and today, this week, being so kind to my mother, to me, you know I love you. I love you because you are you." She kissed him in the quiet room in the city where she had come to find her ghosts and, instead, found her memories.

Later, after a ceremony at city hall which was amazingly simple, after a small celebration with her mother and the women who made up her family, the newly wed couple moved their suitcases to a small hotel suite, Grissom ordered dinner, and they closed the door on the world.

They began the process of learning to live as husband and wife even though their lives had been joined for all practical purposes for over two years. The impractical things came now. They purchased simple gold bands to wear. They ate dinner in small romantic restaurants, rode an open top-double-decker tourist bus around the city, and sailed with other tourists on a sailboat in the bay. They laughed and talked and loved each other.

Every day they visited her mother; Grissom taking small presents, candy, flowers, books, for all the women. Sara already loved this hilly city with its unique personality surrounded by the ocean and the bay. In their walks, Grissom began to understand the invisible hold the city had on Sara. Or perhaps it was the sunshine and cool temperatures. Or finding her mother. She was happy here.

He knew he would leave her here in a few days. He would return—soon; he could not be away from her for long and she needed time with her mother, away from Las Vegas.

The best time of their days was spent in the big bed of their very private room in the small hotel. The employees were invisible; fresh flowers appeared in their room; the bed was made; anything out of place or used was replaced, quickly, quietly, discretely.

They had made love in the familiar way of long-time lovers that still caught his breath and made her content to lie beside him with her hands touching his body. In these quiet times, they had learned intimacy without saying words.

Sara spoke softly in this shelter they had created. "As much as I love you, I want to stay here for a while."

"I know you do. This place is rented for a month—longer if you want it. I'll be here every day I'm off." She heard the smile in his voice as he wrapped arms and legs around her. He raised his head so he could see her face. "I want you to think about something else—we don't have to talk about this right now; just think about it. Okay?"

In the peaceful tranquility of their marriage bed, Grissom voiced his thoughts about their future—he spoke about hopes, desires and dreams. Sara remained quiet as he talked and in every sentence, he included her. Her mind was calm, no longer spinning in circles of confusion and despair that made her feel hopeless and confused. She knew she loved him and she knew she was loved.

_A/N: The conclusion of this little story! But not 'The End'-- Hope you enjoyed it. Give us a review and we will have a new story posted in a week or so. _


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